


like real people do

by sa00harine



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Domestic Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Happy, M/M, Season/Series 01, Will Graham Has Encephalitis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:00:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27146299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sa00harine/pseuds/sa00harine
Summary: will graham proud father of 7 dogs and a surrogate daughter, everyone!
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 74





	like real people do

**Author's Note:**

> hello this is specially for the hannibal discord sever im in but if u find this by chance hello !! also I can't add tags on mobile smh that's why the tags r so stiff  
> here is some lightheartedness for this damn fandom bc y'all damaged

Will’s bent over his desk, one hand thick in his hair tugging to keep his focus as his eyes drooped repeatedly. Despite devoting his time to consulting on cases with Jack, his energy still went to his classes at the end of the day. Or lack thereof, he hadn’t felt truly energized since- 

The telltale goosebumps across his arms mingling with the ball of anxiety in his stomach. The sensations worsen at about the same second he sees a figure hunched in the chair set across from him. Will knows by now the haunting eyes and curled in figure of Garret Jacob Hobbs. He’s familiar in a way with the man he’d killed more than he was familiar with anybody else. A sick consequence, cruel, too. 

Sweat is starting to make the pen slip in his hands and it’s just then he shuts his eyes tight. It feels so real he’s almost back there again, gun in his hands and blood spattered on his glasses. Behind him he thinks he hears the staggered breathing and rhythmic footsteps of a stag. 

Will opens his eyes. The dogs- Winston asleep beside the desk and Harley in the dog bed with beady eyes casually scanning the room, as well as intermittently falling on him in hopes of a treat. (As if Will didn’t give them all treats just twenty minutes ago. Or, he realizes as he sheepishly checks the clock, two hours ago. Guess he’d lost time grading papers.) The dogs don’t stir, however, and that’s how he knows that Garret Jacob Hobbs isn’t actually hunched over, seated and decayed in his living room couch. 

Resigning himself to at least get through one more paper- that way he won’t have as much left to do tomorrow when Jack inevitably seeks him out to witness the next’s days horrendously graphic murder and decipher it- Will reaches for his pen where it had fallen from his grip. 

There’s a knock at his door before he reaches it.

Perpetually on edge as of late, he gets to his feet and feels the tension settle back in his shoulders and his jaw lock into place. The knock wasn’t one he’d heard before- it wasn’t the quick succession of one or two thuds Alana usually produced, nor was it the heavy and sudden knock that came from Jack, eager to make his presence known. This time around it was shrill and light, a quick sound that occurred three times. Off of sound alone, Will could infer it wasn’t the knock of anybody from work. 

That made it all the more dumbfounding as he peered up at the door, skeptical. Luckily, he’d trained the dogs so they didn’t run barking, keeping his home rather unassuming to guests when he had them. (He often didn’t.) Though, they do all go stiff and stare hard at the door and what they believe is behind it. Winston in particular is of interest, as the moment Will walks towards the door the dog follows close behind, brushing against his legs. As he reaches for the cold knob, Will can hear the rest rustle around the house. The pitter-patter of Buster crossing the wooden floors keeps him grounded as he opens the door. 

And the two people he sees there tug the ground right back from under him, sending Will free-falling. 

Abigail and Hannibal Lecter stand on his doorstep. 

“It’s nine-thirty,” Will says bluntly, a carefully placed mask of neutrality and bluntness placed over his surprise and odd giddiness at seeing them here. 

Hannibal nods slowly, still dressed up to the nines with three contrasting patterns that made Will’s eyes cross trying to make sense out of them. Somehow it was less complicated than attempting to look him in the eyes. Will didn’t know what to do with the neverending cesspools that made him feel flayed the instant they lay upon him. “My apologies for not notifying you, Will. I got a call from the psychiatric facility telling me-” 

“I had a nightmare,” Abigail interrupts abruptly, one hand absently tugging on the scarf tied around her neck. Now with the explanation, Will spots evidence of it written on her face. Tearstreaks and a slightly quivering lip. 

“Come in.” He steps aside, a signal the dogs could relax as well and immediately they’re crowding around the new guests. Zoe in particular, the smallest dog, sprints up to Abigail and the girl makes a noise of delight before crouching down to scratch the terrier behind her ears. While she’s distracted, Will takes the moment to scrutinize Hannibal. 

He’s appraising the house, as it’s miles away from his own tastes. Even for Will it’s messy- he hasn’t gotten around to cleaning and it’s made obvious by the blankets strewn on the couch and the dog beds and toys scattered around, dog hair stuck to everything. There’s a few attributes that make it kinder, though, those being the few photos sprinkled throughout of himself, the dogs, and estranged family members he hopes dearly Hannibal doesn’t think to ask about in the future. 

Will stands by his side. “You know, when a patient shows signs of worsening, the treatment is typically to keep them  _ in  _ the facility.” 

“You say this having helped me break her out for lunch on how many occasions?” Hannibal fires back confidently. “And you did allow us inside, did you not?” 

He doesn’t know what name to give the fierce sensation flooding him- protectiveness? Over Abigail? Over  _ Hannibal?  _ Whatever it is, Will’s desperate to keep it sealed tight. “I could have turned you down.” 

Hannibal gives a one-shouldered shrug. “You wouldn’t,” he replies, smooth and self-assured enough that Will hates that he’s correct and itches to wipe the serene and certain expression off his face. 

“Here, I can make you guys something, have you eaten?” He asks, snapping back into what he was sure was vaguely paternal however Will didn’t feel like confronting it at the moment so he simply let it happen. 

Abigail stays beside Zoe, cooing softly at the dog as seconds pass before she looks up. “The food at the place isn’t very good,” she admits. “If you don’t mind-” 

“It’s no problem,” Will answers quickly, already searching through cabinets. He had a decent amount to work with and some sort of soup would do. “Am I making it for you too?” He asks this knowing Hannibal’s eyes were trailing him and without looking back. 

Hannibal moves to stand by the kitchen island. “No need.” 

Will’s opening his mouth to speak when abrupt giggles stream from the living room. Abigail had taken a seat on the couch and was being surrounded on all sides by the dogs. There was Zoe in her arms, licking at her chin without abandon, and Max and Jack by her sides respectively. Buster was sprawled across her lap and Winston was at her feet, head perched across her knee patiently. She glances into the kitchen, face a caricature of youthful joy Will suspects she hasn’t felt in too long a time. He allows himself to feel endeared by it all. 

“How many dogs do you have?” She asks him, face dropping in utter surprise as Harley pads in and runs to jump onto the couch. Will would call out in discipline for the dog if Abigail hadn’t looked at Harley with sheer happiness. 

He smiles in spite of himself. “Seven,” he tells her. “Zoe’s on your lap, Winston’s at your feet-” Will explains, temporarily dropping the stone cold facade he wore for his own security in favor of contentedly sharing this moment and making her feel at home. “The one with dark fur- he’s a Bernese mountain dog, that’s Max, and on your other side is Jack,” he goes on. “Buster- get  _ off  _ her lap, you’re not even supposed to be on the couch- Harley, you too,” Will starts, adamant on not overwhelming her and oddly enough, desiring to have some order in the place. It wasn’t because Hannibal was here. It wasn’t. 

Abigail reaches out with the hand not cradling Zoe to her chest to pet Buster. “No, no,” she says hurriedly, eyes finding Will. “They’re fine, I promise.” She smiles when Buster responds by wagging his tail, it thumping against her thigh and the couch cushion. 

“Buster, stay,” she says, cautious of Will, who makes no move to argue and instead resumes grabbing bowls from his cabinet. 

“Wait-” Abigail hums under her breath and sits up a little. “One-  _ hey!”  _ She descends into another round of laughter when Zoe rears up to lick at her face again. “Hi, you,” she says, chipper as she gives the dog a scratch and resumes her headcount. “-two, three, four, five, six-” Abigail gives a curt wave to Winston, who offers his own sniff in response. “Where’s-?” 

As if on cue, Hannibal shuffles a little on the floor, eyes dropping down to his pant leg. Ellie sat there, tail back and forth, similar to a windshield wiper as a drizzle increases to an even rain. The poodle mix’s tail tempo speeds as she’s given the attention of Hannibal looking directly at her. Unexpectedly, Will has to hold back a snort when a cousin of disgust crosses Hannibal’s face. 

Abigail senses this- intuitive she was, predictably before the events of her parent’s deaths but most definitely after- and watches in interest, amusement appearing on her features with the upturn of her lips and raising of her eyebrows. 

Will’s more than willing to push a few buttons, quite welcomed by the knowledge he had the control here- it was his domain and customs Hannibal had invaded on, rather than the inverse. “She doesn’t bite,” he tells Hannibal. 

He’s met with a flat stare with a pinch of arsenic at the tail end. “She must not take after you.”

A low laugh that Abigail fails to muffle with her hands full of dog. Will rolls his eyes, enamoured by the comeback. 

“Ellie,” Will starts to say. “Sit-”

Hannibal shushes him and perhaps too tired to maintain an aloof presentation, Abigail allows herself to make a noise of interest. Will gives her a sly smile as he notices Hannibal bend down and take the dog into his arms. Ellie’s not by any means a large dog but she sure isn’t small, hence the awkward way she sits in Hannibal’s arms, and the way he’s holding her inches away from touching his chest. He- not hesitantly, that word doesn’t align with Hannibal so much as tentatively, lightly pets the dog’s curls. Over Ellie’s head, he tosses Will an unimpressed glower that unexpectedly sends both Will and Abigail into shameless laughter. 

“You’re not a dog person at  _ all,”  _ Abigail manages, playing off of Will’s hearty sound of agreement. “You’re holding her like she’s dangerous, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal wrinkles his nose, acknowledging he was holding Ellie at arm's length before spitefully pulling her into his chest. Will and Ellie melt in sync- the dog’s head perching on his broad shoulder and Will repressing the thought in which he wished that were him. 

“How about now?” Hannibal asks Abigail, corner of his mouth quirking up in the preamble of a smile. 

Abigail turns her hand to the side and waves it. “Eh,” she answers. By now, she’s buried deep underneath a sort of cuddle pile the dogs have formed. It’s sight that sends warmth through Will unlike any he’s ever known before- the same feeling he received from seeing Hannibal unceremoniously cradling Ellie and trying- in vain- to look unphased. 

Long after Abigail and Will had finished the soup he made- and Hannibal still hadn’t let go of Ellie, dog long since passed out to sleep there in his arms as he stood over them in the kitchen. Over the time that had gone by, Abigail seemed less shellshocked and pale, tears having faded with the emerging smile on her face. She’d yet to let go of Zoe on her lap. Hannibal had even loosened up considerably. It really was all something Will considered a gift to see. Knowing he’d precariously unwrapped said gift instilled him with pride. 

He ruffles Winston’s fur and stands up from the table, dishes in hand. “I’ll set up the couch,” he volunteers. 

“Will, there’s no need for us to stay after already having invaded your home.” 

Will gives Hannibal a look. “It’s eleven at night and your own home is an hour away, the facility thirty minutes from there,” he states. “No, you’re staying in. I have a guest room and a couch.” 

Abigail looks up from where she’d ducked to kiss the dog’s forehead. “Only if you’re sure, I don’t mind heading back.” 

“You hate that place,” Will says blatantly, recalling her words. 

She shrugs but offers no rebuttal. 

“Abigail, would staying elsewhere help with your nightmares?” Hannibal asks. 

She looks between them. “Maybe,” she answers. “It’s worth a try.” 

“Settled, then,” says Will. “You keep Zoe with you, too.” From experience he knew well the security blanket having a dog present provided. Giving Abigail that comfort had become a priority within the last hour.

“Wasn’t planning on letting her go,” Abigail replies, note to her voice that sounds distinctly affectionate. Not for the first time, Will experiences a blooming thought and entertains it- letting them stay here in a circumstance that wasn’t a nightmare in need of soothing. 

By the time Will’s carefully draped a blanket over Abigail in the guest room and watched her reach out to lay it over Zoe, a dead weight over her other arm, he found that he wasn’t as bone-weary and tightly wound as he usually was. 

Buzzing with comfortable,  _ sociable  _ even, energy, he returns downstairs to see Hannibal flipping through the papers on his desk. He leans on the rails, hands in his pockets as he carefully dissects the microexpressions on the man’s face as he inspects. His eyes squint nearly inperceptibly and he looks back at Will with a smile the other can’t say for certain he’s seen before. Hannibal’s canines on display, sincere and inviting. 

“These students are incredibly lucky to have your insight,” he remarks. “I can see you in what they write, Will.” 

He’d never been comfortable with praise and something about it coming from Hannibal makes him fidget, eyes traveling through the room and landing on Ellie, sat obediently by Hannibal’s ankles. 

Hannibal, unbothered, continues. “Your way of thinking is impossible to replicate if it doesn’t bloom from complete understanding, but they try. Do you fault them for not connecting evidence as seamlessly as you?” 

“It isn’t about the thought process, it’s where it leads. I think in my own way-”

“-You empathize in your own way-” 

“-And they form what works best for them in order to get the job done. If they fall behind, this field isn’t for them. Wrong guesses don’t blend with the time windows and lives being risked,” he explains. 

Putting down the paper in precisely the spot it had been left before, Hannibal straightens. “I don’t doubt you are an excellent teacher to learn from. They must value everything you tell them, significantly, or they’d be unaware of the individuality of your mind. It would be an act of sheer negligence to forsake that.”

“Are you saying that as my psychiatrist?” 

Hannibal’s smile comes back halfway. “I’m saying it as your friend,” he proposes. 

Will clears his throat. “Did Abigail tell you what her nightmare was about?” 

He shakes his head. “She refused to. I saw fit to prioritize her comfort before I asked.” 

“We’ll ask tomorrow morning,” Will decides, kneeling to rub at Winston’s belly when the dog ambled over to his side. 

“That we shall do. Thank you for allowing us to stay, Will.” Hannibal beckons to Ellie and with something close to fondness evident on him, sits down to pet her. “You have work early tomorrow morning.” 

Will doesn’t look up. “I’ll find a way to balance it, call in sick if I have to.” 

“Tipping the scales. You wouldn’t call in sick for your own health’s sake but for Abigail’s?” 

With a slight shrug, he flicks his eyes to Hannibal’s, feeling able to withstand the dark intensity there, which is subdued tonight. Hannibal looks back. He looks adapted to Will’s space now. Something he won’t soon forget. Warmth in his chest- the coals of a fire, he thinks distantly. “Feeling paternal,” he replies. 

**Author's Note:**

> no i didn't proofread this <3


End file.
